Liverpool a few years since Part 4

D'Aguilar among the celebrities and fas.h.i.+onables of the town. A tall, fine-looking, portly man he was. Mrs. D'Aguilar was a charming person in society, the life of every party, and retained to the end of a long life all the vivacity and cheerfulness, as well as the appearance, of youth.

She seemed never to grow older. One of their sons, Mr. Joseph D'Aguilar, was decidedly among the wits of the day, and had many a sharp saying and good story attributed to him. Another was General D'Aguilar, who distinguished himself in the Peninsular war, and is the soldier, scholar and gentleman, all three combined in one. Mrs. Laurence, so long the queen of fas.h.i.+on in this locality, was one of their daughters, and, like her brothers, inherited a large portion of intellect from her parents.

The patroness of literature in others, she has herself just gone far enough into its realms to excite our regret that she has not gone further. A kindred spirit of Mrs. Hemans, we often wish that she had not only extended her sympathies to that gifted genius, but had, with her own pen, roamed with her, "fancy free," into the regions of poesy, and emulated her inspirations.

And here let us turn aside to embalm the memory of another old stager, well known and much liked in his day, William Rigby. A gentleman in his bearing, endowed with no slight powers of conversation; clever, witty, social, convivial, he was a most popular man in his circle. And, besides, he played a hand at whist second to none, which always made him a welcome guest at houses where card tables appeared. He was a tall, handsome man, with eyes twinkling with the humour and jocularity which made him such an agreeable companion. And shall we forget Devaynes, that nonpareil of an amateur in the conjuring line? Talk not to us of your wizards of the north, or of the south, or of the east, or of the west.

Devaynes was worth them all put together. How we have stared in our boyish days, half in wonder and half in alarm, at his wonderful tricks, perfectly convinced in our own mind that such an accomplished master of arts must a.s.suredly be in league with some unmentionable friend in the unseen world. As you sat at table with him, your piece of bread would suddenly begin to walk towards him. Before you had recovered from this astonishment your wine gla.s.s would start after it, next your knife and fork, and then your plate would move, like a hen after its chickens, in the same direction. And then how he would swallow dishes, joints of meat, decanters, and everything that came in his way. He was a perfect terror to the market-women, who really believed that he was on the most intimate terms with the unmentionable old gentleman aforesaid. Having made his purchases and got his change for his guinea or half guinea, he would put the coin into their hand, and say to them, "Now, hold it fast, and be sure you have it;" and then, before leaving them, he would add, "Look again, and be certain," when, the hand being opened, there was either nothing in it, or perhaps a farthing, or a sixpence. And even when the joke was over, and he had left the market, they eyed the fairy money both with suspicion and alarm, lest it should disappear, and were never easy until they had paid it away in change to some other customer.

How well we remember these things! The performer of them was a quiet, una.s.suming man, much respected by all who knew him, and certainly one of whom it could not be said that he was "no conjuror."

CHAPTER XVII.

We have spoken in a former chapter of the oil lamps, which, "few and far between," just made darkness visible, and of the old watchmen, who were supposed or not supposed to be the guardians of our lives and property.

The latter deserve another word. The old watchmen, or "Charleys," as they were generally called, were perfect "curiosities of humanity," and the principle on which they were selected and the rules by which they were guided were as curious as themselves. They seem to be chosen as schoolmasters are still chosen in remote villages in the rural districts, namely, because they were fit for nothing else, and must be kept off the parish as long as possible. They were for the most part, wheezy, asthmatic old men, generally with a very bad cough, and groaning under the weight of an immense great coat, with immense capes, which almost crushed them to the ground, the very ditto, indeed of him of whom it was written,

"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door."

They carried a thick staff, not so much a weapon of offence as to support their tottering steps. They had also rattles in their hands, typical, we presume, of the coming rattles in the throat, for they were of no earthly use whatever. Each of them was furnished with a snug box, in which they slept as long as possible. But, if ever they did wake up, their proceedings were of a most remarkable kind. They set forth round their beat with a lantern in their hands, as a kind of a beacon to warn thieves and rogues that it was time to hide, until these guardians of the night had performed the farce of vigilance and gone back to snore. Moreover, like an army marching to surprise an enemy with all the regimental bands performing a grand chorus, they also gave notice of their approach to the same kind of gentry by yelling the hour of the night and the state of the weather with a tremulous and querulous voice, something between a grunt and a squeak, which even yet reminds us of the lines in Dunciad;

"Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls, And makes night hideous: answer him, ye owls."

But, to be sure, the wisdom of our forefathers had a double object in view when they ordered this musical performance to be got up. It not only saved the poor old watchmen from conflicts in which they must have suffered grievously, but it served another purpose, and so "killed two birds with one stone" with a vengeance. Only fancy the happiness of a peaceful citizen, fast asleep after the toils and fatigues of the day, to have his first slumber disturbed that he might be told that it was "half-past eleven o'clock, and a cloudy night," and then, by the time that he had digested this interesting intelligence and was composing himself on his pillow again, to be again aroused to learn that it was now "twelve o'clock, and a starlight morning," and so on every half-hour until day-break. The vagaries of the veritable queen Mab, with "t.i.the-pigs' tails" and all the rest of it, were only more poetical, not the least more rest-disturbing, than the shouts of these bawlers of the night. Truly, the watch committee of those days might have taken for their motto, "Macbeth does murder sleep." And many were the funny tricks played upon these poor, helpless old creatures, by the practical jokers who then so abounded amongst us. Sometimes they would, when caught napping, be nailed up in their boxes, while occasionally, by way of variety, their persecutors would lay them gently on the ground with the doors downwards, so that their unhappy inmates would be as helpless as a turtle turned upon its back, and be kept prisoners till morning. In short, "a Charley" was considered fair game for every lover of mischief to practise upon, and their tormentors were never tired of inventing new devices for teazing and annoying them. Latterly, however, as the town grew larger, the veteran battalions, the cripples, wheezers, coughers, and asthmatics, were superseded by a more stalwart race, who looked as if they would stand no nonsense, and could do a little fighting at a pinch.

The last of these men, whom we recollect before the establishment of the new police, had the beat in the neighbourhood of Clayton-square. Many of our readers must recollect him. He was a six-foot muscular Irishman.

"Well, Pat," some of the young ones, who are middle aged gentlemen now, used to say to him, "Well, Pat, what of O'Connell?" On such occasions Pat invariably drew himself up, like a soldier on parade, to his full height, looked devoutly upwards, and then solemnly exclaimed, "There's One above, sir-and-next to him-is Daniel O'Connell!" And it was a name to conjure with in his day! We respected, as often as we heard of it, that poor fellow's reverence for his mighty countryman, and felt that, had we been Irish, we also should have placed that name first and foremost in our calendar of saints, martyrs, patriots and heroes. Who is there now of his name and nation who can rise and say, "Mr. Speaker, I address you as the representative of Ireland." But, forward. How the old times, and the old things, and the old oil-lamps, and the old watchmen have all pa.s.sed away and disappeared! And the old pigtails, too, have vanished with them. When we first escaped from petticoats into jacket and trousers, every man, young and old, wore a hairy appendage at the back of his head, called a pigtail, as if anxious to support Lord Monboddo's theory, that man had originally been a tailed animal of the monkey tribe; for surely our _wholesale re-tailing_, if we may so speak, could have been for no other purpose. Pigtails were of various sorts and sizes. The sailors wore an immense club of hair reaching half-way down their backs, like that worn by one of Ingoldsby's heroes, and thus described by him,-

"And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick, Like a pump handle stuck on the end of a stick."

Those of the soldiers were somewhat less in magnitude, but still enormous in their proportions. And quiet citizens wore jauntily one little dainty lock, tied up neatly with black ribbon, and just showing itself over the coat collar. It was a strange practice, but custom renders us familiar with everything. At last, however, Fas.h.i.+on, in one of her capricious moods, issued her fiat, and _pigtails_ were _curtailed_. But some few old stagers, lovers of things as they were, and the enemies of all innovation, saw revolution in the doom of pigtails, and persevered in wearing them long after they had generally disappeared. The pigtail finally seen in society in Liverpool dangled on the back of -; but, no, no! never mind his name. He still toddles about on 'Change, and might not like to be joked about it, even at this distance of time. Its fate was curious. Through evil report and good report he had stood by that pigtail as part and parcel of the British Const.i.tution, the very Palladium of Magna Charta, Habeas Corpus, and the Bill of Rights. But the time for a new edition of _The Rape of the Lock_ arrived. He dined one day with a party of gay fellows like himself. The bottle went freely round, until, under its influence, our unlucky friend fell fast asleep.

The opportunity was seized upon. After some hours' refres.h.i.+ng slumber he awoke, and found himself alone. On the table before him was a neat little parcel, directed to him, made up in silvery paper, and tied with a delicate blue ribbon. What could it be? He eagerly opened it, and found, _Il Diavolo_! that it was his pigtail. "Achilles' wrath," as sung by Homer, was nothing compared with the fury of the wretched man. He stormed, he swore, he threatened, but he could never discover who had been the operator who had so despoiled him, like another Samson, of his pride. Let us hope that remorse has severely visited the guilty criminal. Its work, however, must have been inwardly, for outwardly he is a hale, hearty, cheerful-looking old man, who still carries himself among his brother merchants as if he had never perpetrated such an enormous atrocity.

This, we said, was the last of the pigtails seen in Liverpool society.

But we did meet with another, the very _Ultimus Romanorum_, after a lapse of many years, under very peculiar and interesting circ.u.mstances. We were walking in Lime-street, when all at once we caught sight of a tall, patriarchal, respectably-dressed man, some three-quarters of a century old, with a pigtail. It was like the ghost of the past, or a mummy from Egypt, rising suddenly before us. The old gentleman, whose pigtail seemed saucily to defy all modern improvements as the works of Satan and his emissaries, was, with spectacles on nose, reading some doc.u.ment on the wall. Being naturally of an inquisitive turn of mind, and especially anxious at that moment to find out what still on earth could interest a pigtail, we stopped to make the discovery. Ha! ha ha! It nearly killed us with laughter. It was the electioneering address of Sir Howard Douglas. No wonder the old man's sympathies were excited: it was pigtail studying pigtail, Noah holding sweet communion with Methuselah or Tubal Cain. We often marvel within ourselves whether that last survivor of the pigtail dynasty is yet alive, and whether he believes in steam-s.h.i.+ps, and railways, and electric telegraphs; whether indeed he believes in the nineteenth century at all, or in anything except Sir Howard Douglas and pigtails.

Hair-powder, which also used generally to be worn in those days, went out of fas.h.i.+on with pigtails. It was in allusion to this practice that the old song laughingly asked,

"And what are bachelors made of?

Powder and puff, And such like stuff, Such are bachelors made of- Made of!

Such are bachelors made of."

Even ladies wore hair-powder. The last, within our memory, so adorned, was Mrs. Bridge, the mother of Mr. James Oakes Bridge, who lived in St.

Anne-street, and a fine, stately, venerable lady of the old school she was.

A terrible time was it for hair-dressers, who then carried on a thriving business, when pigtails and hair-powder were abolished at one fell swoop.

It was in reality to them like the repeal of the Navigation laws, in idea, to the s.h.i.+p-owners, or free-trade to the farmers. We were amusingly reminded of it only a few weeks since. Being on our travels, with rather a wilderness of hair upon our head, we turned into a barber's shop, in a small town through which a railway, lately opened, runs. The barber had a melancholy look, and seemed to be borne down by some secret sorrow, to which he gave utterance from time to time in the most dreadful groans. At length he found a voice, and rather sobbed than said, "Oh sir, these railways will be the ruin of the country!" Did our ears deceive us? Or was the barber really gone mad? We were silent, but, we suppose, looked unutterable things, for he continued, "Yes, sir, before this line was opened, I shaved twenty post-boys a day from the White Hart, and now if I shave one in a week I am in high luck." Unhappy shaver, to be thus shaved by the march of improvement! And inconsistent George Hudson! thou talkest of the vested rights of s.h.i.+powners and landlords, and yet didst thou ever stay thy ruthless hand and project a line the less that country post-boys might flourish, and country barbers live by shaving their superfluous beards? O! most close shaver thyself, not to make compensation to thy shavers thus thrown out of bread and beards by thy countless innovations!

But it is time that we should finish this chapter, and we will do so with copying an anecdote touching hair powder, which greatly struck us as we lately read it in the _History of Hungary_. Some great measure was under discussion in the diet of that country, when Count Szechenyi appeared in the Chamber of Magnates, on the 28th of October, 1844, in splendid uniform, his breast covered with stars and ribbons of the various orders to which he belonged. "It is now thirty-three years," said he, "and eleven days since I was sent to the camp of Marshal Blucher. I arrived at the dawn of day, and at the entrance of the tent found a soldier occupied in powdering his hair before a looking-gla.s.s. I was rather surprised, but, on pa.s.sing on a little further, I found a page engaged in the same way. At last I reached the tent of the old general himself, and found him, like the others, powdering and dressing his hair also.

'General,' said I, 'I should have thought this was the time to put powder in the cannon and not in the hair.' 'We hope,' was the reply, 'to celebrate a grand _fete_ to-day, and we must, therefore, appear in our best costume.' On that day the battle of Leipsic was fought. For a similar reason, gentlemen, I appear here to-day, dressed in this singular manner. I believe that we are to-day about to perform one of the brightest acts in the history of our nation." The address was received with loud acclamations. But hair-powder and gunpowder have, we believe, long since been divorced, even in the camp. It was inconvenient. It was found, as touching the former, that, on a hot day, it was impossible "to keep your powder dry."

CHAPTER XVIII.

Whether we consider the magnificence of its estate, the amount of its revenue, or the extent of its influence, the Liverpool Corporation might ever be compared to a German princ.i.p.ality put into commission. We have, in a former chapter, alluded briefly to its state and condition in those old days, when

"All went merry as a marriage bell,"

and no Munic.i.p.al Reform Bill ever loomed in the distance. But we feel that we must say something more about such an important body. The old Liverpool self-elected Corporation was always looked up to and spoken of with respect from one end of the country to the other. It was, indeed, considered to be a kind of model Corporation by all others, and quoted, and emulated, and imitated on all occasions and in all directions.

We have said that it was self-elected. We must add that it was most exclusive in its character and formation. "We don't shave gentlemen in your line," says the hair-dresser in _Nicholas Nickleby_ to the coal-heaver. "Why?" retorted the other, "I see you a-shaving of a baker, when I was a-looking through the winder last week." "It's necessary to draw the line somewheres, my fine feller," replied the princ.i.p.al. "We draw the line there. We can't go beyond bakers." And so it was with the old Corporation. They drew a line in the admission of select recruits into their body, and strictly kept to it. All tradesmen and shopkeepers, and everything retail, were carefully excluded, and cla.s.sified in the non-presentable "coal-heavers' schedule." But they were not only exclusive in the fas.h.i.+on which has been indicated, but in other ways also. Their line of distinction was more than a separation of cla.s.s from cla.s.s. They were not only a self-elected body, but a family party, and carefully guarded the introduction of too many "outsiders," if we may so speak, of their own rank and order in society. They would, indeed, occasionally admit a stranger, without any ties of relations.h.i.+p to recommend him. But this was only done at long intervals, and just to save appearances. Thus, such men as Mr. Leyland, Mr. Lake, and Mr.

Thomas Case were, from time to time, introduced into the old Corporation.

But extreme care was taken that the new blood should never be admitted in too large a current. For the same reason, that of saving appearances, our ancient munic.i.p.als, although ultra-Tory in their politics, occasionally opened the door of the Council Chamber to a very select Whig. Nothing, however, was gained for the public by this quasi-liberality of conduct. The Whigs, so introduced, generally fell into the ways of the company into which they had been admitted; and it was remarked, that in every distribution of patronage they were at least as hearty and zealous jobbers as the most inveterate Tories. This may have been said enviously. But, at all events, it was said. We are, recollect, writing history, not censure. Human nature is of one colour under every shade of politics. "Caesar and Pompey very much 'like, Ma.s.sa; 'specially Pompey."

We have said that, with the exception of the occasional Whig admitted for the sake of appearances, or to be ornamental, the politics of the old Corporators tended to extreme Toryism. They were, nevertheless, divided into two parties, as cordially hating each other as the rival factions in Jerusalem. As their opinions on all great public matters exactly coincided, the apple of discord between them must have been the immense patronage at their disposal, and which was too often considered as the heirloom of the Corporate families. On one side were the Hollingsheads, Drinkwaters, Harpers, etc. On the other, and at that time, and for years after, the stronger interest, were arrayed the Cases, Aspinalls, Clarkes, Branckers, etc. The latter party owed much of their preponderance to the influence of the great John Foster of that day, who, although not a member of the Council himself, possessed a strange power over its decisions and judgments, and brought to his friends the aid of as much common sense and as strong an intellect as ever were possessed by any individual. But it is not to be supposed that the members of the former Corporation limited their attention and zeal to the battle for patronage and place. Let us do them justice. Considering the immensity of the trust committed to their charge, the fact that there was no direct responsibility to check, control, or guide them, and the sleepy sort of animal which public opinion, now so vigilant and wakeful, so open-eared, open-eyed, and loud-tongued, was in those old stagnant times, our conviction has always been that they performed their duty miraculously well. We are neither their accusers nor eulogists. If they were not perfect, they were not altogether faulty. They expended the town's revenues for the town's good. Their foresight extended to the future as well as the present. They perceived the elements of coming greatness which the port of Liverpool possessed, and laid the foundation, often in the face of as loud clamour and criticism as those days were capable of exciting, of their growth and development. Their successors have but walked in the path which they had opened, and carried out the plans which these Council forefathers had devised. In every part of the town may be seen their works and creations, carried on under the superintendence of the Mr. Foster whom we have mentioned, and of his gifted son, too little appreciated amongst us until he was beyond the reach of all human praise and applause. On the tablet to Sir Christopher Wren, in St. Paul's, London, it is written, _Si monumentum quaeris_, _circ.u.mspice_. And, even so, if we are asked to point out the ever-abiding epitaph which, from generation to generation till the world's last blaze, will uphold the memory of our old defunct Corporation, we should answer "LIVERPOOL."

When we are told of their extravagance; when we hear of their nepotism; when their spirit of exclusion is scoffed at; when their ultra politics are ridiculed; let us draw a veil over all and everything, as we contemplate our docks, our churches, our public buildings, and once more exclaim, _Si monumentum quaeris_, _circ.u.mspice_. These speaking memorials will remain when all their faults are forgotten!

But we said, just now, that the members of the old Corporation would, from time to time, for the sake of appearances, admit a select Whig or Liberal into their number. This reminds us of a good story, which was circulated at the time, when it was debated among them whether they should or should not elect the present Mr. William Earle. "He is a very clever fellow," said one of them to a grim old banker, thinking thereby to conciliate his favour and win his support. The eulogy had just a contrary effect. "So much the worse," replied old money-bags, "we have too many clever fellows amongst us already." As n.o.body cried out, "Name, name!" the list of this mult.i.tude, this constellation of clever ones, is lost to posterity. And, having mentioned this joke against one of the old Council, let us add another. One day Prince William of Gloucester and his staff of officers were dining with a certain member thereof, who treated them with the best which his house contained and which money could command. When the cloth was drawn, his wines, which were excellent, were not only enjoyed, but highly praised. Being a little bit of a boaster, he perpetrated a small white fib by saying, "Yes! that port is certainly very fine, but I have some better in the cellar." "Let us try it," instantly rejoined a saucy young _aide-de-camp_, amidst the laughter of the company at the alderman being thus caught in his own trap. On another occasion it was said that the presiding genius at a table where His Royal Highness was a guest, thus encouraged his appet.i.te, "Eat away, your Royal Highness, there's plenty more in the kitchen." For the honour of Liverpool refinement, be it known that it was not one of our natives who made this speech, so much more hospitable than polite.

It was a gentleman of an aristocratic family, officially connected with the town. But taste was not so fastidious, neither was society so conventional, in those days as they are now. The most expressive word was the word used when it was intended to mean warm sincerity, not empty form.

And what a crowd of the county n.o.bility and the gentry were invited to the Corporation banquets in those old days. There was the venerable Earl of Derby, the grandfather of the present Lord. There was likewise the Earl of Sefton, gay, das.h.i.+ng, and agreeable. Mr. Bootle Wilbraham, and Mr. Bold of Bold Hall, then Mr. Patten, were frequent guests at the Mayor's table. And there was old Mr. Blackburne, who was the county member for so many years in those quiet times of Toryism, when the squirearchy reigned supreme even in the manufacturing districts. An easy-going man, of very moderate abilities, was old Squire Blackburne.

He stuck by his party, and his party stuck by him. Many a sugar-plum of patronage fell into the mouths of his family and friends. The Mr.

Blundell of Ince, of that day, came frequently amongst us, although, generally speaking, a man of reserved habits, and more given to cultivate his literary tastes than to mix in company. He presented one of the Mayors of Liverpool, Mr. John Bridge Aspinall, with a portrait of himself, half-length, and an admirable likeness. It hung for many years in the drawing-room of the gentleman in Duke-street. Side by side with it was a splendid painting of Prince William of Gloucester, also a gift from His Royal Highness to Mr. Aspinall. Where they are now we know not.

But, when dotting down the names of some of the neighbouring gentry who used to look in upon us some forty odd years ago, we must not forget to recall honest John Watkins, "the Squire" of Ditton. Squire Watkins, as many of our old stagers will recollect, was a Tory, if ever there was one in the world. But a n.o.ble-souled, true-hearted, generous, hospitable man was he withal, as ever lived, a kind of Sir Roger de Coverley, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. And what a house he kept!

And how he came out in his especial glory on his coursing days, when all the Nimrods and Ramrods in the county a.s.sembled under his roof, and did not resemble a temperance society in the slightest degree. Poor old Squire Watkins! Some terrible Philistine once planted a hedge, or built a wall, we forget which, which trespa.s.sed, or was supposed to trespa.s.s, an inch or two upon his land. It was just the sort of trifle for two people in the country with nothing to do to quarrel about. The feud, or "fun, grew fast and furious." The squire insisted upon the removal of the encroachment. His opponent refused. Threats followed, defiance succeeded, until, one morning, like Napoleon making his swoop upon Brussels, John Watkins, Esq., took the field at the head of his household troops, the butler, coachman, groom, gardener, etc. At last they arrived on the field of Waterloo. But the opposing Wellington was already there, in position with his followers, himself in front with a double-barrelled gun in his hand. Nothing daunted, the squire, pointing to the encroaching fence which was to be destroyed, cheered on his men to the attack, and the "Old Guard" advanced merrily to the charge. But they were presently brought to a check. "Up Guards!" shouted the hostile Wellington as they approached, while "click" went the c.o.c.k of his double-barrelled gun, as he raised it to his shoulder, vehemently swearing at the same time that he would shoot the first man who dared to lay hands upon the debatable boundary. The a.s.sailants wavered. The squire shouted to them in vain. Even he himself did not like the look of the double-barrelled gun, but, fixing upon John, his butler, to be his Marshal Ney, he encouraged him to the attack. John, however, feeling that "discretion was the better part of valour," hesitated, when his master again cheered him to the fight with this promise of posthumous consolation, "Never mind him, John; if the scoundrel does shoot you, we'll have him hanged for it afterwards." "But please, master," said John, as wisely and innocently, "I'd rather you hanged him first." This was too much. There was no help for it. Hugoumont was saved. Napoleon and his forces retreated, baffled and discomfited, from the field. The squire, peace to his memory, fine old fellow, used often to tell this story in after years, never failing to revile poor John for his cowardice, which lost the day. But we always defended John, and turned the laugh against the squire, by gently insinuating that there was somebody more interested in the quarrel, who was even more prudent than prudent John.

CHAPTER XIX.

The Church, in the days we are speaking of, was in a very torpid and sleepy state, not only in Liverpool, but throughout the land. None of the evangelical clergy had then appeared in this district, to stimulate the pace of the old-fas.h.i.+oned jog-trot High Churchmen. Neither had Laudism revived, under its new name of Puseyism. Nothing was heard from our pulpits but what might have pa.s.sed muster at Athens, or been preached without offence in the great Mosque of Constantinople. In fact, "Extract of Blair" was the dose administered, Sunday after Sunday, by drowsy teachers to drowsy congregations. If it did no harm, it did no good. We do not here speak of James Blair, Commissary of Virginia, President of William and Mary College, etc., whose works, little known, contain a mine of theological wealth. We allude to Dr. Hugh Blair, whose sermons, so celebrated in his day and long after, are really, when a.n.a.lysed, nothing better than a string of cold moral precepts, mixed up with a few gaudy flowers culled from the garden of rhetoric. We have often wondered at the praise beyond measure which Dr. Johnson again and again bestowed upon Blair's diluted slip-slop and namby-pamby trifles. He not only spoke of them in the highest terms on every occasion, but thus, in his strange way, once exclaimed, "I love Blair's sermons. Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and everything he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such was my candour." At all events, as we have already stated, "Extract of Blair" was the pulpit panacea universally prescribed at the beginning of the nineteenth century. And we are bound to add, as far as our youthful recollections go, that the majority of the Liverpool clergy in those days were rather below than above the average of mediocrity.

There were some among them, however, whose names are worth recalling.

One of the best preachers in those old times was the inc.u.mbent of St.

Stephen's, Byrom-street, the Rev. G. H. Piercy, a fine fellow in every way. He is still alive at his living of Chaddesley, in Worcesters.h.i.+re, to which he was presented through the influence of old Queen Charlotte.

His mother-in-law, the wife of the Rev. Mr. Sharp, then vicar of Childwall, had been about the court in some capacity or other, and it was the good fas.h.i.+on of her Majesty never to forget her friends. Mr. Piercy must have reached the age of the patriarchs at least. Then there was the Rev. Mr. Milner, of St. Catharine's Church, Temple-street, which was removed in making some improvements in that part of the town. Poor Mr.

Milner! When not was.h.i.+ng his hands, he employed each hour of the day in running after the hour before, and was always losing ground in the race.

A kind-hearted man he was, and a pleasant one when you could catch him.

He was known as "the late Mr. Milner." The Rev. Mr. Vause preached in those days at Christ Church. He was considered to be a brilliant star in the pulpit, and was indeed a first-rate scholar, a fellow-student with the ill.u.s.trious Canning, who made many and strong efforts to reclaim him from a course of life which unhappily contradicted and marred all his Sunday teachings. But, even with regard to his sermons, effective and telling as they were made by style, voice and manner, it was found, after his death, when they pa.s.sed into other hands, that they were chiefly Blair, with others copied from the popular writers of the day. A clergyman, who was to preach before the Archbishop of York, had the choice of them for the occasion. He picked out the one which seemed to him to be the most spicy and telling, and, confident at the time that it was the production of Vause himself, delivered it with mighty emphasis and stunning effect. When it was over, the Archbishop blandly smiled, praised it exceedingly, and then, to the horror and astonishment of the preacher, whispered, "I always liked -'s sermons," naming the author from whom it was taken. Never did poor jackdaw feel so much pain at being divested of his borrowed plumage.

One of the ablest men, although a mumbling kind of preacher, in those times, was the Rev. Mr. Kidd, who was for so many years one of the curates of Liverpool, a kind of Church serf, who could never rise to be a Church ruler. He had many kind friends, and at many a table which we could mention a plate and knife and fork were always laid for the poor curate. But he ever appeared to us to be an oppressed and depressed man, with a weight upon his spirits which nothing could shake off. There was indeed a romance attached to his history, although he was perhaps the most unromantic looking person that the human eye ever rested upon. He was a brilliant scholar, when a student at Brasenose College, Oxford, and his hopes and ambition naturally aspired to a fellows.h.i.+p. It was supposed to be within his grasp. But how wide is the distance between the cup and the lip! The princ.i.p.al was unpopular, and some of his doings were severely flogged in a satirical poem which appeared without a name.

Its cleverness led him to suspect Mr. Kidd, and, without looking for any other proof of the authors.h.i.+p, he became his sworn enemy, and used all his influence, and only too successfully, to turn the election against him. Some love affair, we have also heard, but this was, it may be, only "one of the tales of our grand-father," went wrong with him about the same time. So that, altogether, he was thrown upon the world a sad and downcast man, with blighted hopes and blasted expectations from his very youth, and settled down into the curacy of Liverpool, where he saw more than one generation of inferior men, inferior in scholars.h.i.+p, in learning, in wit, in all and everything, promoted over his head. A pleasant, agreeable, quaint and original companion was poor Kidd amongst his intimates, but tongue-tied in a large party. He saw through the hollowness of the world, and despised it. There was n.o.body like him for unmasking a sham, and reducing a pretender to his real and proper dimensions. And then his chuckling laugh when he had accomplished such a feat, and impaled the human c.o.c.kchafer upon the point of his sarcasm!

And how bitterly he would allude to his curate's poverty, as, smacking his lips over a gla.s.s of old port at some friend's table, and he did not dislike his gla.s.s of port, he would tell us that his own domestic allowance of the same was "to smell at the cork on a week-day, and to take a single gla.s.s to support him through his duties on a Sunday." Poor fellow! Once upon a time, and such G.o.dsends did not often fall to his portion, he had married a couple among the higher orders, and received for it a banknote which perfectly dazzled him. Then came the marriage breakfast, then the marriage dinner. He was a guest at both, and perhaps took his share of the good things which were stirring. His way home was through the Haymarket. Another gentleman, whose path was in the same direction, hearing a great noise, came up and found our friend fighting furiously for his fee with a lamp-post, and exclaiming, as he struck it with his stick, "You want to rob me of it, you scoundrel, do you? But come on, we'll see!" He was a relation of the celebrated Dr. Kidd, who wrote one of the Bridgewater treatises, and who lately died at Oxford full of years and honours.

Another well-known clergyman in those days was the Rev. Mr. Moss, who was afterwards vicar of Walton for so many years. His share of "the drum ecclesiastic" was decidedly the drum stick. But, although a very moderate performer in the pulpit, he had a very good standing in society, and was very much liked in his own "set." Not over witty himself, never was man the cause of so much wit in others, and often at his own expense.